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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017057">Ecstasy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabakunoghee/pseuds/ghee'>ghee (sabakunoghee)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>1917 (Movie 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Cigarettes, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shotgunning, Smoking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:35:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabakunoghee/pseuds/ghee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, I can’t do this freely in front of the girls,” he resumed, voice dry recalling his nieces, “My sister taught them to hate this.”<br/>Blake was silent for a moment before whispering, “Then stay here for a little bit longer.”</p>
<p>“You can smoke as much as you want,”</p>
<p>or,</p>
<p>A smoking lesson went terribly wrong. (Or <i>right</i>, it really depends.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Blake/William Schofield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ecstasy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First, I'm sorry. Second, I'm sorry. Third, <a href="https://twitter.com/3Oghee/status/1234023133377490944">they ruined me</a>. I hope I can get my peace after posting this one. I posted this at 3AM so I'll be back later to fix some grammatical errors I unconsciously did.</p>
<p>Enjoy, I guess?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas Blake cheated <em>death</em>.</p>
<p>(And he would retell his story, exaggerate some parts of it, for he was lucky enough being a survivor of the Western Front.) <em>Well</em> – time healed many things, fear and terror were no exception. Blake used to wake up at least three times each night, his breath choked, sometimes vomiting uncontrollably. His mind was struggling to forget how painful a stab wound was, but his body remembered how he almost lost half of his lower bowel caused by severe infection. To flee from the final judgment required an immense payment, so he learned to fight his inner demon, to overcome suicidal, negative thoughts.</p>
<p>Those hellish days of explosions and gunpowder, drenched soil and muddy craters had been long gone and the British Army had retreated from the frontline. But the pain still lingered, somehow. Blake was sent home not long after he was discharged from the military hospital, a shiny badge was given as a tribute of his courage. His companion that day, William Schofield, fought until the end of the war and reunited with his family: a sister and two nieces. He still maintained his connection with the Blakes well, visited their residence regularly, made Thomas jealous when Joseph greeted and hugged him in a friendly manner. His mother cooked a turkey every time Schofield stayed a night at their house.</p>
<p>It was his fourth visit, that noon. Schofield and the youngest Blake were left alone for some reason; Mrs. Blake had to see her distant relatives out of town and Joseph was summoned by the military (both Lance Corporals didn’t bother to ask the reason). Blake was sluggishly laying on his bed, softly eyeing Schofield who sat down on another mattress – it used to be Joe’s, but was already abandoned since the eldest had owned property nearby. He was soon going to marry a nurse he met not long ago, so he rarely came home, more or less was the reason behind his little brother’s grumpiness. Thomas was lonely, but he was too proud to state it. Hence, he was happy every time Schofield came and stayed.</p>
<p>Blake might envy <em>his</em> capability, <em>his</em> slender posture, <em>his</em> ridiculously perfect facial features, but it didn’t negate the fact that Schofield was his hero. He would always be. And to have such man beside him—</p>
<p>It was something else; almost <em>surreal</em>.</p>
<p>He was seventeen when he first volunteered, eighteen when he was drilled at the boot camp, nineteen when he met Schofield. A child no more, but barely an adult. A good son who loved to help his mother taking care of the orchard, never really learned how to socialize with the opposite gender. Trapped in a horde of <em>men</em> and the brutality where privacy was a luxury didn’t help at all. Only Schofield, the one who made him feel safe – in a bizarre way, Blake found a sense of belonging when they were together.</p>
<p>“Been two years, yeah?”</p>
<p>The comfortable silence between them was broken by Blake’s sentimental voice. Schofield glanced at the younger lad, a hand playing with a tobacco tin, “Why, feeling nostalgic?” he teased, lowly chuckled. What Blake implied by ‘two years’ was the dogfight incident, the horrible conflict which almost took Blake’s life away, still made Schofield qualm, “I don’t think I can miss anything from the bloody war.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Blake retorted, “Nothing at all?”</p>
<p>“Are you seriously missing <em>something</em> about the trenches?”</p>
<p>Blake giggled, “It’d sound crazy if I say this, but, <em>yes</em>, I low-key miss sleeping next to you under the tree, I miss the ham and bread, I even miss our mission,” he answered in a hum, “The meadow, the wind.”</p>
<p>Schofield sighed, “There’s no way I’ll let you return to such hell again.”</p>
<p>“Afraid, aren’t you?” asked Blake, half-jokingly.</p>
<p>“More than you know,” which, unexpectedly, Schofield replied seriously.</p>
<p>“Is that why you keep on visiting me, Sco?”</p>
<p>Schofield couldn’t answer that one particular question.</p>
<p>“Because you feel <em>guilty</em>?”</p>
<p>“Blake,”</p>
<p>“You know you shouldn’t be like this to me—”</p>
<p>“<em>Blake</em>.”</p>
<p>The period mark following his name sent a shiver down his spine. Blake bit his bottom lip, challenging himself to look at Schofield, who was deeply glaring back at him. There was remorse in his dark eyes. So much and heavy he knew he could do nothing to pay the price. Somme had erased colors from Schofield’s life, left him nothing but monochrome palette, took his side of the humanity of red, green and blue. But Blake, somehow, repainted his black and white canvas, making it as vibrant as his personality.</p>
<p>Schofield softened his gaze,</p>
<p>“You don’t need the <em>war</em> to sleep beside me,” his voice softened, <em>echoed</em>, “Come here.”</p>
<p>Blake momentarily hesitated, but Schofield’s gesture made his body move on its own. His feet numbly stepped and suddenly his head was resting on his comrade’s tight, both his legs were far on the other edge of the bed. The awkwardness, the tension, <em>all</em> vanished once they touched – they never got this opportunity unless they wanted to get caught red-handed. Both were quiet. Wondering what kind of <em>thing</em> that had changed them; Blake got used to this, sleeping on Schofield’s lap without other soldiers knowing. He always needed to touch people, and Schofield was willing to share, as simple as that.</p>
<p>Everything between him and Schofield should be that way; it was platonic when they were at war,</p>
<p>
  <em>It shouldn’t turn into anything else once they were not.</em>
</p>
<p>“May I smoke here?”</p>
<p>Blake looked up. From <em>this</em> point of view, he could see the ups and downs of Schofield’s throat as he spoke. And he swore to God that wasn’t very healthy to his mind and soul – “Go ahead,” he permitted, “But I think I never saw you smoking back then,” starting a conversation was Blake’s way to cope with his nervousness. <em>Of course,</em> he had to conceal his desire, there were logical <em>reasons</em> for him to do so.</p>
<p>“You just didn’t know,” the other responded calmly.</p>
<p>Words were replaced by a faint sound of tin clicking open. Blake watched how Schofield pulled out a cigarette using his lips, how his hand lit the fire while another free one blocked the incoming wind, how his forehead wrinkled, his eyes squinted, as he sucked. It was – almost mesmerizing. Unbothered, Schofield placed both the match and container on the nearby table. He carefully exhaled the thick smoke away from Blake’s position, cautious enough so the flaring ember wouldn’t fly to Blake’s direction. His bright blue eyes stared in awe; he never liked it when the other soldiers smoked near him, but, now,</p>
<p>“You look cool when you smoke.”</p>
<p>Blake’s innocent adoration almost choked Schofield, “I’m destroying myself, here, Blake.”</p>
<p>“I’ve seen you destroying yourself countless times, Sco, don’t even think this petty thing surprise me,” he joked and it brightened Schofield up a little bit, made him happy, “But so far, this one is the coolest.”</p>
<p>“Stop romanticizing cigs,” Schofield flicked the younger’s forehead, resulting in an inaudible ‘ouch’ and a sweet little pout of those full lips, “You never tried this? Joe never taught you to smoke?”</p>
<p>“Joe is a medic, just in case you forget things.”</p>
<p>Schofield snorted, “Right.”</p>
<p>“Since when?” his extended hand pointed at the tobacco tin.</p>
<p>“Since I came home,” he inhaled the grey stanches deeply, “Things were different once the war end and I felt… restless,” Schofield didn’t go into details. It wasn’t easy to get over and moving on; the horrid view of dead horses and decaying bodies would haunt them for the rest of their life. Blake nodded on his lap and Schofield again craned his neck to the opposite angle. The distinctive odor of tar filled the room, soothed Blake in a way he wasn’t at all familiar with, “Well, I can’t do this freely in front of the girls,” he resumed, voice dry recalling his nieces, “My sister taught them to hate this.”</p>
<p>Blake was silent for a moment before whispering, “Then stay here for a little bit longer.”</p>
<p>Schofield <em>ached</em>.</p>
<p>“You can smoke as much as you want,” his hand hovered on the thin air, trying to grab the mist formed from Schofield’s lips. Blake looked at him, eyes to eyes, “When you’re satisfied, you can go home.”</p>
<p>There was a solid silence for a minute. Schofield gulped hard, uneasy.</p>
<p>“Why are you doing this to yourself?”</p>
<p>“I enjoy seeing you smoke,” he shrugged, “What else could it be?”</p>
<p>“You’re a terrible liar.”</p>
<p>He <em>knew</em>.</p>
<p>It didn’t make any difference, however. Unlike Schofield who fancied being alone, acting all distant and never let anybody – <em>but Blake</em> – came too close, Blake was an open book. He never hid, <em>he didn’t even try to hide,</em> his attraction, his desire, and Schofield realized when Blake already <em>fell</em> too deep. For <em>him</em>. For another man, he should never give his heart to. But again – war changed <em>everything</em>, and Schofield wasn’t immune to the effect, for loneliness and fear and desperation shaped him into another <em>thing</em>. Barely a human since his heart and soul were forsaken on the stranded land.</p>
<p>
  <em>A person who never witnessed a war could never understand a man who’d seen endless death.</em>
</p>
<p>But Blake <em>did</em>. Blake was <em>there</em>. Blake watched him day by day, kept his eyes on his transformation; a beast, a monster, a merciless killer. But Blake never flinched, never questioned, for he fathomed the reason and the risk, he kissed away his every nightmare, he forgave the blood that had been shed.</p>
<p>Blake was his <em>salvation</em>. A home.</p>
<p>
  <em>What do you think I’m here for?</em>
</p>
<p>“Sco, let me taste it.”</p>
<p>Schofield was lost in his thought and Blake, again, was the one who snapped him back to reality. His big, puppy eyes welcomed him, <em>Jesus</em>, he was insanely adorable from this angle, “Sit down, then.”</p>
<p>“That’s too troublesome,” whined Blake, “Just put it on my lips.”</p>
<p>“You’ll suffocate yourself, trust me.”</p>
<p>“Sco…”</p>
<p>“Do you even know how to suck <em>and</em> inhale? Those are two different steps and I won’t let you practice it while laying down,” Schofield scolded him, but a smile didn’t escape his face. He practiced his preach in a fluid motion, exhaling the fume while Blake sank deeper in his lap, “You’re not getting up, huh?”</p>
<p>Blake shook his head, “You’ll give up. You could never resist my charm.”</p>
<p>Schofield huffed.</p>
<p>He glanced down at Blake and found him mischievously gazed back. Should he admit; outside the bloodshed, without sweat and mud and bruises, God poured too much beauty and youth in him. However, Blake was a man, no matter how pretty – Schofield wouldn’t deny that Blake had captivated him since only God knew when, but he would still treat him as a one. Schofield didn’t want to hurt his pride. There was a healthy border of gentleness and compassion he could show and for a thing, he considered ‘masculine’ such as nicotine, out of question, Schofield didn’t find a reason to play it soft,</p>
<p>“Open your mouth,” Schofield ordered him. <em>Oh</em>- the sense of dominance was overflowing inside his blood stem and it almost drove him mad. His adrenaline rushed beneath his every muscle and he found it hard to control his sudden excitement, seeing Blake playing all docile like this, “A bit wider.”</p>
<p>“How can I keep the cig between my lips, this wide?”</p>
<p>Schofield shushed him and Blake, still confused about what might bring, kept his lips parted.</p>
<p>“Stay still. Trust me. <em>Don’t move</em>.”</p>
<p>Three orders.</p>
<p>Blake was a total dumbass when it came to obeying multiple rules, but naturally grasped the whole idea when he saw Schofield took a regular haul off and then pushed his lips until theirs were almost touched. Blake, both shocked and scared, reflexively inhaled too much air, mixed with slowly-released vapor from Schofield’s mouth, and he expelled them all in a cough. The clueless reaction made the smoker let out a laugh but left Blake in embarrassment and burning throat. He grabbed Schofield by his collar and glared at the older man, “You didn’t give me the right instruction and you’re laughing?”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he muttered between his chuckles, “That was hilarious.”</p>
<p>Blake frowned, “Shut up and tell me what to do.”</p>
<p>“I exhale, you inhale,” Schofield explained the obvious and Blake rolled his eyes, “The key is the precise timing, and well, my fault for trying this method on you – it requires trust and might be too intense for a first-timer like you,” he grinned, “Besides, you’ll regret it if my lips accidentally touch yours.”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind,” Blake’s sharp voice cut him off, “I <em>don’t</em> mind.”</p>
<p>The seriousness in his tone flabbergasted Schofield.</p>
<p>“Blake, it doesn’t have to be like <em>this</em>, you know,” he hissed, “You’re not supposed to do <em>this</em> with <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense.”</p>
<p>Recalling how intimate it was when Schofield was an inch away from him was overwhelming; it would be a lie if Blake said that he didn’t enjoy it. Was it wrong if he wanted Schofield for him, and him <em>only</em>, just for <em>a day</em>? Why should he care? Even God had neglected them – was it a sin to love but not to kill? Blake didn’t verbally reply. His hands replaced words, more effective in transferring meaning after meaning, as they landed on Schofield’s both cheeks, brought his face down, <em>closer</em>. The pressure and the warmth of Blake’s thick palm weakened him, destroying his very last barrier, sent him powerless.</p>
<p>Schofield surrendered into temptation. Blake was right. He was irresistible.</p>
<p>(—but he never expected to concede this fast.)</p>
<p>“<em>Suck</em>.”</p>
<p>This time, Blake closed his eyes, merely following his hunch, his basic instinct. Schofield’s upper lip and Blake’s bottom lip almost brushed, but he maintained them half an inch away from each other. Blake slowly inhaled the smog Schofield produced in small, repeated intakes. Toxin quickly reacted inside his body; relieved his negative moods and his emotional distress. Schofield did the same motion above Blake’s parted lips, and after each amount of nicotine, Blake went more and more relax. His senses were sharper but his skin was more sensitive, it was almost painful to touch. His cheek flushed deep-red and his breath turned into panting. His lungs- <em>oh</em>, his chest could burst at any time, he swore.</p>
<p>The sensation was quite different from consuming alcohol (and he was never a fan of the aftereffect of beer,) – but, he <em>liked</em> it. Perhaps because it was Schofield he shared this intimate experience with.</p>
<p>Schofield realized he made a <em>big </em>mistake from how hungry Blake scowled at him. Hazily. Half-lidded. Lips trembling, <em>damn</em>, those sensuous lips. The nicotine was too much for him, he guessed? Before he assessed the whole situation, Blake was asking for more. Thus, Schofield sucked his cigarette deeply,</p>
<p>
  <em>You’re asking for this.</em>
</p>
<p>This time, the gap was gone. Schofield bent down and pressed his lips all the way against Blake’s. This created a seal as he opened his mouth, delivering a massive amount of smoke into his partner cavity. Blake drifted his hands up to reach Schofield’s hair, grabbed them, helplessly clung on him; the kiss was wildly upside-down, they were neck and collarbones and chest Blake was facing, all muscles moving erotically. When the smoke vanished and Schofield could see the view below him, he didn’t waste any second, <em>couldn’t control his appetite</em> – his tongue played its role, roughly massaging Blake’s inexperienced one, made the younger whimpering for mercy. But he didn’t stop. Nor he moved slower.</p>
<p>Blake tasted like cherry, smelled like mint, but as scorching as the sun itself. It melted and pierced Schofield just like the war did to him, reminded him of the shell, the bullet. The kiss was devastating.</p>
<p>It paralyzed him. Electrifying.</p>
<p>“Sco – <em>Jesus</em>, Sco…”</p>
<p>His fingers desperately reaching the sheets. His back arched in bliss and his toes curled in pleasure. Blake hated it when he wasn’t in full control, but this once, beneath Schofield’s possession, he didn’t mind. A sigh of disappointment escaped his lips as Schofield broke the kiss and created a safe space.</p>
<p>“Can I finish this?”</p>
<p>Schofield murmured, voice slurred in ecstasy.</p>
<p>“Blake – <em>tell me what you want</em>.”</p>
<p>Schofield treated him as if he was the <em>war</em> itself; well-calculatedly moved in strategy. Blake couldn’t see straight through his long eyelashes, but he nodded. His hand gripped Schofield’s free one, guided him to slide along his chest, down to his abdominal. Schofield didn’t break their eye contact as he teased Blake’s groin – <em>a groan from the back of his vocal chord, this time</em> – long, strong fingers tracing the hair below his bellybutton which lead to God knew where. Tenderness was replaced by raw strength, what a primordial battle occurred between two bodies. Schofield, gasping, asked for his final permission,</p>
<p>“Say it, Blake…” his thumb was caressing Blake’s throbbing arousal, “Say it.”</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>, Sco, use your mouth for something else, now—”</p>
<p>Schofield grinned and Blake hid his face; it was too embarrassing.</p>
<p>He took it slow. He kissed the scarring on Blake’s abdomen. Imperfection did nothing to him but made him <em>perfect</em>. A gentle reminder that they survived; there were <em>millions</em> of ways to die but less than little reason to keep on living. And they <em>lived</em>. And how much he valued what he had, now. Schofield engraved every motion, every sound, he would never forget any second of this moment. How he didn’t want to forget. He wanted to carve Blake’s name on every corner of his mind. The cigarette was hot between his fingers – he flicked it into the wall, used his palm to turn it off, burned his skin on the process. Blake was about to ask, but the breath-taking view of Schofield went down on him was too much.</p>
<p>The next thing he experienced was his private being released and wetness covered him whole.</p>
<p><em>Oh- </em>he died once, and so did half of Schofield. They were reborn in each other’s arms – for there was nothing could make them feel very much alive. Blake’s voice was muffled as he found his way to his partner’s pants. His trembling fingers hastily unbuckled the belt above his face, trying his best to return the favor.</p>
<p>Fireworks. Gunshots. Screams. Stars. Cherries. Petals.</p>
<p>
  <em>Schofield.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sco. Sco. Sco, Sco-Sco – <strong>Sco</strong>—</em>
</p>
<p>Blake exploded in Schofield’s mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first thing Schofield noticed once he opened his eyes after a deep slumber was Blake; sitting by the window, inhaling and exhaling his cigarette in a smooth flow. Their eyes met, and Blake’s were twinkling in mischief.</p>
<p>“If I told you I smoke, you might’ve never kissed me that hard, yeah?”</p>
<p>Schofield had to admit that he was defeated.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ec·sta·sy | \ ˈek-stə-sē  \<br/>1a: a state of being beyond reason and self-control</p></blockquote></div></div>
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